


In Rain or Shine

by mycitruspocket



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-23 16:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: “Have you ever tried honey?” Aziraphale asks, out of the blue, still staring at the ark in front of him while the raindrops fall heavier by the second.





	1. Mesopotamia - 3004 BC

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to kate_the_reader, my beta-darling! 
> 
> Title from Queen's "You're My Best Friend".

“Have you ever tried honey?” Aziraphale asks, out of the blue, still staring at the ark in front of him while the raindrops fall heavier by the second.

“What?” is Crawly’s ineloquent response, his eyes now settling on Aziraphale after following the path of the fleeing unicorn.

“Honey. Someone gave me this earlier, and I very much want to taste it before it gets wet.”

“It’s in a jar, I don’t think it can get wet,” Crawly says, looking curiously at the jar in Aziraphale’s hand. Then he adds, looking with even more curiosity at Aziraphale now, “Looks valuable. Someone just gave it to you?”

“Well, if you must know, a woman gave it to me because I happened to catch her child when it fell out of a tree.”

“You just  _ happened _ to catch a kid that fell out of a tree?” Crawly can’t help but smile in surprise.

“I  _ happened _ to see it happening. So I stopped it from happening,” Aziraphale stammers a little awkwardly, as if to justify his action. Crawly notices a pink flush on his cheeks and decides it looks rather beautiful on him. 

“Of course you did.” Crawly doesn’t know how he manages it, but even if this act can’t be called anything but good, Aziraphale looks uncertain, nervously kneading his hands, as if doubting that it was the right thing to do to save a kid. Crawly - maybe because of his demonic nature to state the obvious, maybe because he’s curious to see the angel’s reaction or maybe even because there’s something specific he wants Aziraphale to think about - has to rub it in just a little bit more. “You saved a kid earlier this day, which your lot is going to drown in a few hours.”

“There’s nothing I can do to prevent this, Crawly,” says Aziraphale, voice breaking and looking as if the weight of the entire world is lying on his shoulders. Maybe it is.

“I’m not talking about preventing the flood, angel. I’m simply talking about doing something you think is the right thing to do.”

“Are you… Crawly!” Aziraphale says indignantly. “Are you tempting me to do something  _ good _ ?”

Crawly doesn’t answer, he hisses at the word  _ good _ because he has to, which earns him a relieved huff accompanied with pursed lips morphing into a bashful smile. 

Aziraphale touches his temple in concentration, closes his eyes and then there’s a tingle in the air telling Crawly a not so small miracle has just been performed.

When Aziraphale opens his eyes he looks genuinely happy, even if still a little unsure.

Remembering Aziraphale’s earlier offer, Crawly gives him a reassuring look. “Come on then, let’s try this honey of yours, whatever it is, someplace dry. Journey’s my treat.”

Azirapahale’s nod is followed by a snap of Crawly’s fingers and a second later they are sitting in the shade of a tree, far away from any rain clouds.

“What a lovely place,” says Aziraphale, overlooking a river and green meadows in the distance. “Thank you, Crawly,” he adds, words heavy with something Crawly can’t quite comprehend. The way Aziraphale is saying his name, he’s never heard it said so gently. Probably because there are not many situations where you can use his name or the word  _ crawl _ in a gentle or generally well meaning manner. He likes the sound of it, when it’s coming from Aziraphale’s mouth, and the way his lips are forming it, but he doesn’t like the name, never has.

The sound of the jar being opened stops him from thinking and all his curiosity about human discoveries surfaces. “You said they call it honey? How do they make it?”

“The woman told me her cousin is harvesting it from bees, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Bees, astonishing. What is it supposed to taste like?”

“I have absolutely no idea. Try it,” says Aziraphale and presents Crawly his outstretched index finger dripping with a viscous, golden liquid.

“Um. Right from…” He’s eyeing the finger, and since no other option presents itself, thinks  _ why not _ and sucks it into his mouth.

It’s sweet, and rich but it’s the additional taste of Aziraphale that makes this an utterly overwhelming experience for Crawly. He closes his eyes because any optical input would be too much and he has to savour this moment, memorise every bit of information so he will be able to remember it for eternity. He might have made a soft noise just now, or was it Aziraphale? He really can’t tell at the moment, sensory overload.

Opening his eyes, he finds that Aziraphale is looking at him intently. He’s probably waiting to get his finger back. With one last lick with the tip of his tongue, he releases it with a wet sound that is oddly loud in his ears and as soon as it’s gone from his mouth, he misses it.

“That must have been delicious,” Aziraphale says, voice a little hoarse, and puts the same finger into the jar to then lick the dripping honey from it. 

_ I know what you taste like _ , Crawly thinks,  _ and now you know what I taste like in return. _

“Scrumptious,” exclaims Aziraphale around his finger, eyes ablaze with delight. All Crawly wants to do in this moment is bask in Aziraphale’s delight, in his love of the world, in his joy. He wants to curl up and lie there with Aziraphale’s eyes on him, soaking up the divine energy that is constantly radiating off of him - which he should be appalled by as a demon, absolutely disgusted by, but he isn’t. In reality, it’s the most alluring thing he can imagine.

It’s only after Aziraphale has long miracled himself away, when Crawly is lying on the grass, watching the stars and still tasting both the honey and Aziraphale on his tongue, that he remembers the flood. And the bees, the flowers - the unicorn. 

With a snap of his fingers he vanishes, and not too much later the unicorn pops up in his place - baffled, and dripping wet, but soon distracted by the lush grass - soon followed by a field of wildflowers and bees - lots of busy bees. And just to be on the safe side, because who knows where this blasted flood is heading, he raises the earth around them higher and higher.


	2. London - September 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gotta be cool,” Crowley says to himself, standing on the familiar steps leading to Aziraphale’s bookshop. “Relax,” he breathes, even tries to close his eyes for a second. Whatever he’s trying to achieve here, it’s clearly not working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two lines borrowed from Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love".

“Gotta be cool,” Crowley says to himself, standing on the familiar steps leading to Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

“Relax,” he breathes, even tries to close his eyes for a second. Whatever he’s trying to achieve here, it’s clearly not working. He is sweating, which is a rather unusual condition for him. “Oh fuck why iss thiss sso hard,” he hisses to himself, gripping the little jar in his hand tighter.

Suddenly the door in front of him opens and Aziraphale steps outside into a patch of autumn sunshine, making everything around him glow a little bit warmer.

“Crowley! What are you doing out here? Come in, come in!” Aziraphale’s face lights up and for a moment Crowley forgets why he was so nervous. Then it all comes back to him when he sees that Aziraphale’s eyes are focussing on the jar in his hand. As if he can sense delicious food stuffs from miles away.

“I, um…” Crowley stammers while walking through the door Aziraphale is holding open for him. He doesn’t continue because he simply doesn’t know what to say.

“Now what have you got there?” Aziraphale saves him, even smiles one of his kindest smiles, the bastard.

“For you,” Crowley says too fast, still holding onto the jar. “I’ve got something for you,” he adds a little bit more controlled.

“Oh how nice of you, my dear. What is it?” 

The air around them smells awkward and Crowley wishes he’d thought this through more. Apparently thousands of years of planning weren’t enough. They are still standing in the middle of the shop, and this is not how he wants to do this.

“Let’s sit down, yeah? Please?” Crowley asks and without waiting for a response, walks past Aziraphale to the corner with the sofa. Thankfully, his angel simply follows him after a snap of his fingers turns the door sign to ‘Closed’.

They sit down as they always do, with Aziraphale on the armchair opposite the sofa, and Crowley realises that this won’t do either.

“No, come here,” he pats the spot beside him on the sofa. “Please come here.”

The pink flush on Aziraphale’s cheeks is as lovely as it always is.

“Alright,” Aziraphale sits down at the far end of the sofa, his smile looks as awkward as Crowley feels.

“No, angel. I said  _ come here _ ,” he says it as patient and calm as possible and pats the spot directly beside him once more.

“If you insist,” Aziraphale shuffles closer towards the middle of the sofa, and then, after Crowley gives him a look from above his sunglasses, he scoots over the last inches until their thighs are almost touching. Almost. He’s sitting with his usual prim stiffness, hands clutched together in his lap.

Crowley takes one deep breath, takes his sunglasses off and begins to explain.

“Do you remember the first time we tried honey?”

“I do!” The answer comes so promptly as if it was only yesterday and not millennia ago.

“Well, afterwards, I found out where this cousin harvested the honey, and kept everything safe from the flood. Made sure there’s always been someone to look after the bees and plants, of course. And since the world didn’t end, I thought I’d pop by there, get us a fresh batch to celebrate.”

“You… How did you save it from the flood?” Crowley had hoped he’d explained it all well and slowly, but Aziraphale was apparently stuck at the beginning.

“I… put it all on a mountain. Far away.”

“You raised a mountain. To save some bees and plants.”

“And a unicorn.”

“And a unicorn. Of course… Oh Crowley. Why did you never tell me?” And just like that, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Aziraphale reaches out to take Crowley’s hand.

“Bit cheesy, really, if you put it like that. Not a demon’s style, you know what I mean. Better not advertise that sort of thing,” Crowley mutters not able to look away from their joined hands and tries squeezing back. It works surprisingly well.

“No, not a demon’s style. Your style.”

“Yeah, ‘suppose.” 

“Do you want to open it? The jar might break if you hold on to it like this any longer.”

“Oh. Yes.” Crowley looks at the jar, then at their joined hands. He doesn’t want to let go so he blinks and the lid vanishes. 

Aziraphale miracles a spoon, presenting it to Crowley proudly, but he just shakes his head and it pops out of existence again. “Like the first time,” he says as Aziraphale looks puzzled at his empty hand.

Reluctantly Crowley lets go of the warm hand and pushes his index finger into the honey, swirls it a bit so it won’t drip, and then holds it out to Aziraphale. It feels so different than back in Mesopotamia, not just the reversed roles. They hadn’t known what they were doing back then, what it meant. But they both haven’t forgotten and Crowley hopes, with all that’s holy and damned, that they both know where this is going to lead them.

Aziraphale’s determined look when he opens his mouth to suck the honey from Crowley’s finger tells him that yes, they do both know. He holds his gaze as his lips close around Crowley’s knuckle. When Aziraphale swirls his tongue around, slowly and with obvious intent, there’s a spark of desire in his eyes which Crowley is quite sure matches his own, because  _ fuck _ how could he spend 6000 years in this body without knowing how very sensitive his fingertips are. He’s also sure that Aziraphale is very well aware what he’s doing to him. There is no awkwardness anymore, no shy innocence. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lets go of Crowley’s finger, an when he does, he licks his lips without breaking eye contact. 

“Scrumptious,” Aziraphale breathes, voice rough, and Crowley wishes he was able to die of embarrassment because of how much this turns him on. 

“Would you like to try, my dear?” If Aziraphale is able to form actual words, so must he.

“I’d rather try it from here, if I may” Crowley tries to say, it comes out almost inaudible and breathy as he cups Aziraphale’s chin and brushes his thumb over his wet lips.

“You may,” Aziraphale says, eyes sparkling and mouth twisting into an irresistible smile Crowley has never seen on his angel’s face before. 

Crowley leans in, eyes focussed on the fluttering of Aziraphale’s lashes, and when their lips meet for the first time, everything around him feels soft and tender - loved. This is what it feels like to love openly, and not in secret - to  _ be _ loved openly, and not in secret.

Aziraphale is pressing himself closer now, all his former stiffness forgotten as he climbs onto Crowley’s lap without breaking the kiss. Their lips move gently, parting slightly and finding each other again and again. There are small noises of pleasure coming from both of them, hands that stroke though silky hair, lips that move from mouths down to necks and back, and little laughter of joy, happiness and relief. 

The honey jar sits safely on the table nearby and will later be shared on warm, buttered toast, followed by more kisses and more touches. The special place where it came from will be loved and treasured for the rest of eternity, because one angel and one demon will look after it, will have picnics on the mountaintop where the air is filled with the buzzing of bees and the divine scent of flowers that have bloomed from almost the beginning of time.


End file.
